Dreams Run Like Sand
by ExistentialistAtBest
Summary: Aubrey Jackson. Blonde hair, brown eyes. 5'2". Likes all music, line dancing, rain, and sweet tea. Hates alcohol, blood, hypocrites, and Paul Carryes. Things aren't easy when you're a white girl living on a reservation. Plus, she's hiding a huge secret...


**So, this story started out as a Bella and Edward romance, but I have come to the conclusion that I am now Team Jacob. Well, I would've been if the series were still obsessed with it as I was a couple of years ago. I have come to hate Edward, and I have absolutely **_**fallen in love **_**with imprint stories. Now, I'm trying one out.**

**The story is dedicated to all three of my gorgeous, beloved aunts who have passed away due to basically what made me write this story, which you will find out about as the plot unfolds.**

**Now, on with the show!**

I can't hear what Mr. Van Huss is saying.

Usually, this wouldn't be a problem; English was easy, and frankly boring. But, considering that we have a final in a week, I really need to pay attention, which is kind of hard when you have two, overgrown idiots chatting up a storm behind you. I don't really hear what they're talking about, but I catch snippets of their conversation. 'Emily' and 'muffins' come up the most. I mentally sigh. Of course, they were talking about girls and food. Really, was it _that_ hard to respect that other people want to learn? Or, should I say, want to pass the test so they can get out of this class? Typical guy thought processing.

I was jerked out of my thoughts by a wadded up piece of paper that landed on my desk. I looked to my left. A girl with long black hair and toned skin daintily waved her fingers at me. Yeah, Jordan – the only person here who was smart enough to look past my difference of color, yet stupid enough to toss notes around in class when the teacher was looking. Mr. Van Huss looked at Jordan with what I guess was supposed to be a 'I'm A Teacher So I Can Glare At You And Give You A Week's Detention' type glare, but it just came out to be a 'Please Don't Make Me Do More Paperwork Than I Have To' type look. So, he turns back to the board and continues writing about hyperboles and tropes, or whatever the hell we're reviewing about. Of course Jordan doesn't get in trouble; she never gets in trouble, because 1. She was the captain of the Yay Like Rah-Rah Cheer Squadron, and she couldn't get detention; missing a game would be a big no-no, and it would put said detention-giving teacher in a knee-deep pile of crap from the students, and 2. She was just too drop-dead gorgeous to deny; one smile from her would result in an A+ for the whole semester. Even though she was a typical high school cheerleader, she was a friend no less.

I unwrap the paper and smooth it out a little on my desk. It's so wadded that I can barely make out the words.

_Hey, wanna catch a movie tonight?_

Not really, I think to myself. Jordan's idea of 'catching a movie' was actually sneaking out and going to a party. I have to study, and even if I wanted to go out, it wouldn't be hanging out with a bunch of pizza-faced teenagers who offer me spiked drinks. No thanks. I've watched too many movies and read too many books to figure out that stuff like that doesn't end well. And I certainly didn't want to fill my senior year with a bunch of sex and drugs. Not my type of fun. I frown at the thought. People don't really like the idea of going to a country bar to line dance very fun, like I did.

Another piece of paper lands on my desk. I turn to Jordan. Her smile has turned into a frown. She must've seen my reaction to her suggestion.

_Come on, you never do anything fun. I'll drive :D_

Well, Jordan, I don't really consider it as fun. What happened to the girls in the eighth grade, who thought that going bowling with a bunch of other girls was fun? Or when a sleepover was the peak of awesomeness? When did things change? It's like it happened overnight. And yes, I secretly wish I was still in middle school, where teachers actually trusted you more than they do in high school. Where saying 'I like like you' was a scandal. Where a guidance counselor didn't talk about college and money and GPA blah blah yak yak, they focused on caring and honesty and responsibility and giggle giggle snort snort.

Mr. Van Huss didn't see the note this time, and I know this because he was actually putting sentences together and wasn't having a hernia at the same time.

"Now, the final is going to be 30% of your final grade. So, those of you who decide to cram the night before, you better rethink your game plan. Did you know that it takes 7 to 21 repetitions to actually grasp a concept and remember it thoroughly?"

No, I didn't know that, and to be honest, I don't believe it either. I personally think that cramming right before the test helped me remember more than studying a week before would. Though the panic that was setting in persuaded me to actually take the teacher's advice, even though I'm the Queen of Procrastination, and I would rather watch TV than study for a class. Was this going to be on the test?

"The only way that you can actually achieve goals in your life is responsibility – "

Oh, God. Now he was going to give us a life lesson. Time to respond to Jordan.

_**I can't go. I have to study tonight. Sorry :(**_

Okay, it wasn't a total lie; I actually do have to study, but I wasn't exactly sorry about it. Go ahead Jordan, have _fun _without me. I wad the paper up again, and look to see if the coast is clear. The teacher is writing something on the board again. This is my chance.

Now, I'm not exactly known for my athleticism…or, my aim. So, instead of hitting Jordan's desk (or anywhere near Jordan would've been satisfactory), I hit Lisa Demos.

Ah, Lisa Demos. God only knows how much I hate Lisa Demos. This was the girl who pushed me off the monkey bars, who took my homework from the turn in box and copied off of me, who did _everything_ she possibly could to embarrass and harass me.

"Ow! What the hell?" she exclaims to the whole entire world. Seriously, it was a piece of paper, it's not like it hurt her. Mr. Van Huss turned around right away, and Demos beat him to the punch before he could even ask what happened.

"Dude, Aubrey totally hit me in the head!" Did she just call him 'dude'? My mouth pops open at her hysteria. Students were trying to hide their laughs by pretending to cough and sneeze. I can't figure out if they're laughing at me or her. The teacher sighed and got a pink slip out of his desk; just my luck to get in trouble for something I didn't even start. I stood up to go get the piece of paper.

"I'm sorry, Aubrey, you know the rules. No note passing." I roll my eyes when he isn't looking. Walking out of the room to take the detention slip to the guidance counselor is the worst. You get to see everyone's reactions to you getting caught. Jordan looks at me with an apologetic smile – this means 'Sorry you got caught because of me, but even though it's all my fault, I'll act like nothing's wrong when we talk to each other tomorrow'. Lisa looks at me with narrowed eyes and a grin – this means 'I hate your guts and I can't wait until the next opportunity to humiliate you in front of the entire student body'. Then, last but not least, the two idiots (who look _exactly _thesame: buff, tan, and handsome. Both popular yet outcasts at the same time) look at me with humor-filled eyes and hidden laughter – which means 'Thanks for making attending school today actually worth it, catch you later, make fun of you again'. Great, now I feel like I'm an attraction at a petting zoo.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and trudge out of the classroom, my dignity slowly catching up to me.

oOo

"You are all here for a reason: breaking the rules. Rules are a part of society, which is one of the six things that make up a civilization. Society, Technology, Environment, Economy, Government, and Culture. Without one of these components, you have an anarchy on your hands! Now, there are virtually four final destinations for all of you teenagers—"

I could audibly hear the other students gulping at the words 'final destination'. Yeah, you're totally going to die in a roller coaster or tanning bed accident. Nice going Coach M. Here I was, in detention. For no reason whatsoever. My mom's going to have a cow when I'm late getting home. The only entertaining thought that crossed my mind was the tall Indian teacher in front of me.

Coach M was one of those guys who thought that spending 30 years in the Marines and then retiring into a high school teaching job was a good idea, which it isn't. 'No, meathead!' and 'Give me 20!' were common phrases in our classroom whenever someone was goofing off or gave the wrong answer. Showing his battle wounds and sharing the most gruesome war stories were his examples as he taught angles, graphs, and equations in Algebra II. His graying hair didn't hinder his intimidating look. Thick neck, tanned skin, rippling muscles, and a glare that could send even the toughest football player crying his eyes out to his mom, were the exact ingredients to come up with Coach M.

And that's exactly why he's my favorite teacher.

" – the military, a career, continuing your education, or the life of crime. So obviously, you kids need to get your act together before you have to resort to the fifth: mooching off of your parents!"

This is basically how detention went on for the next half hour. Of course, I had to pretend to listen to him, because I didn't want to lose my merits. He actually liked me, even though he kept forgetting that I was a junior and not a freshman. And one of the up-sides of being a girl and having his class was that when you got an answer wrong, you just got a sarcastic 'Yeah, sure!' instead of 'Drop! Now!' when you were unfortunate enough to be a guy.

A sharp object dug into my back suddenly, forcing me out of my thoughts. I turned around to the jerk sitting behind me, thinking that I was going to give him a piece of my mind, but knowing that I wouldn't have the guts to do it.

It was actually quite comical how he could barely fit into the desk because he was so big. He could easily rival Coach M in the "Who Has The Biggest Biceps Contest". Even sitting down, you could tell that the dude had to be _at least _six foot. He was Quileute all over, obviously. Tan skin, brown eyes, black hair; basically the complete opposite of me. He had the biggest scowl on his face that could also rival our teacher, which is quite impressive I must say, but all of a sudden his eyes went blank, as if in shock.

I just sat there, looking at him right back.

Was I supposed to say something? And if I was, what would I say? Would it be something along the line of "Hey dude, why are you staring at me?" or maybe "Why the hell did you stab me in the back with your pencil?"I mean seriously, you'd think he'd get rid of the evidence. His hand was holding his pencil in midair with the sharp point toward my back. Gee, how considerate.

But no, I just stuck with my strategy, unintentionally of course. Hi, how's it going stranger? How about this weather? Not that it's changed any in the last, oh, I don't know, 17 years. Yeah, nice conversation, Aubrey.

"Aubrey!"

"Yes, sir!" I exclaimed, quickly turning back around in my seat, where Coach M was intently looking at me.

"It seems that you do not grasp the concept of detention. No. Talking." I bit back a witty comment that contained the fact that he was actually not grasping the concept of detention, but instead blurted out this:

"I sneezed."

…

Yeah, you could hear a pin drop in the classroom. I sneezed? Where did that come from? I didn't sneeze, and even if I did, believe me, the entire reservation would have heard it. Way to go, Aubrey. Nice excuse. You should've just kept your mouth shut.

Coach M gave me a disbelieving look. Not a genuine one of course, him and sarcasm went hand in hand. "Oh really? Then why didn't I hear this sneeze?"

Crap. I'm not a good liar. The biggest thing I've ever lied about was when I was nine and I stole the whole bag of Starbursts out of the kitchen when my mom didn't give me permission. Okay, think fast.

"I'm a, uh, very quiet sneezer." Yeah, that should do. The boy (more like man) behind me gave a loud snort that made me want to smack the smirk (that I _knew _he had) right off of his face.

"Then why were you turned around in your seat, clearly talking to Mr. Carryes?"

"I told her 'bless you'," a deep, gruff voice behind me stated. Oh my God. He was actually going along with it. Alright, keep up with the act.

"Yeah, and I was just saying thank you. I didn't mean to cause a disturbance, sir." He still had a look of apprehension on his face, as if he knew he was being tricked, but he unfolded his arms that were crossed at his chest and sighed.

"Alright, it seems as if I misunderstood. Now, Miss Jackson has actually brought up a fine example of what we call 'sanitation' –"

I basically just tuned him out after that, not because I was tired, or exhausted, or whatever, but because I could feel the boys eyes boring into the back of my head. It was amazing how I just knew that he was staring intently at me. I wish I could do that: get people to look at you just by staring at them, considering that you always see it in the movies. And I was basically uncomfortable for the rest of the hour.

I swear, when the teacher's watch alarm went off and he said 'dismissed', I was the first one out of my seat. My messenger bag in tow, I swerved out of the room. My mom was going to be pissed. And I was praying to whatever God was out there that I wouldn't be late to babysit my sister. I shoved open the twin doors leading to the parking lot and hastened past all of the crap-looking cars, trying to ignore the calling of my name behind me.

And I knew _exactly _who was calling me.

**I think that **_**all **_**of us know who's calling you, Aubrey, and I do hope that you will make it to babysit your sister in time. You don't want to let her end up like me when I was a baby, now do you?**

**Katherine: Well, I'll say.**

**Me: No one was asking **_**you**_**, creature.**

**Katherine: Monster.**

**Me: Oooh, that's creative *note the sarcasm***

**I think that's a decent length for a first chapter, because it's certainly nothing like my regular ones. Now, I'll have you know that I am a review addict. They're basically what keeps me going. So, tell me what you like, don't like, and what I can improve on. In a nice way please. Constructive criticism is welcome.**

**Don't you just love that sexy little button down there? You know…**

**the REVIEW BUTTON?**


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